No Longer A Legend
by The Phantom Fox
Summary: After a group of survivors are found in the land around Winterfell, Westeros begins to change. Myths become reality. Takes place a little before ASoIaF book 1 with characters from Walking Dead season 3. Rated M for violence/gore and language. Try to update every week or sooner.
1. Chapter 1

*** Bran ***

Bran always had a thirst for adventure. Perhaps he would one day be defending Winterfell at his brother's side, against the perfect rows of enemy lines. He imagined them clad in bold red and gold, with an elegant helmet to match. Or perhaps he would be at the Wall, fighting savage Wildlings, or White Walkers like in Old Nan's tales. All he knew was that one-day he would become a knight. A brave knight with a speedy stallion; ready to protect his friends, family or comrades from anything that threatened their lives. But today he was just Brandon Stark, a boy of seven and constant climber of Winterfell's walls and watchtowers.

It was a cool summer day at the Stark stronghold of Winterfell. Muddy as the grounds were, the soldiers, people and livestock were as busy as bees. Green boys were fighting in the yards brandishing not only swords, but also ugly blue bruises. Sheep and a fair few heifers waddled through a dirty puddle, followed by a dozen annoyed maids. Bran, Jon, and Robb practiced their marksmanship in the yard while Sansa stayed inside with Septa Mordane, fiddling with needle and thread. Arya was… anywhere and Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn strolled to the Great Hall, ready to convene with the council.

The two sat down at the familiar Ironwood table in the Great Hall. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik were already there, chatting quietly.

The maester and knight stood and said, 'Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn.'

'Good morning,' replied Lord Eddard. He took a seat at the head chair; Catelyn sat beside him. 'Now, I've called the both of you to announce that King Robert shall arrive her at Winterfell by the end of the week. We received a raven stating that not only the king, but the queen, their children, relatives and perhaps more will be tagging along as well -.'

'Within the week?' Luwin asked. 'Certainly not enough time to prepare…'

'That is true, maester, so we will have to start today.'

'I will inform the men, your grace. Are there any pressing matters that need attending?'

'Food preparation will be of utmost importance,' Catelyn said, 'King Robert will eat more than his fair share! Lord Tyrion… I hear he drinks all through the night.' The three shared a laugh. Just then a loud rapping could be heard on the oaken doors to the great hall.

'Let them in,' Eddard said.

The wooden doors creaked, and a soldier entered the hall. 'Milord, there's a deserter… a deserter of the Night's Watch.'

Eddard winced. 'I'll be there soon.' The soldier left and the doors closed with him. 'Maester, Ser,' he stood up, 'begin the preparations. Catelyn… tell Bran and the others to come along.'

'Ned… he's only seven.' She said, aghast

'He won't be a boy forever.' Lord Stark left the hall and Catelyn followed suit.

'Steady your bow arm,' Bran's half-brother Jon Snow said.

_Twing_. The arrows stroke the edge of the target, just barely penetrating the dense fibre. 'Ugh.'

'Don't worry Bran, you'll be an archer soon enough,' said Robb, behind small chuckles. 'Oh, look mother's come to scold you for climbing again!'

'Robb, Brandon, Jon,' she took a deep breath, 'get your cloaks on. There is to be an execution just outside the walls. And your father… _wants _the three of you there.' She sighed, nodded at Robb and walked away without another word.

'I father doing the execution?' Bran asked.

'Of course, the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.'

'Let's get going then,' said Jon. 'Best not keep Lord Eddard waiting.'

The grass was covered with a thin dusting of snow. The horses' footsteps crunched with every step. Just over the hill was a small group of Stark soldiers, grim and clad in black. Eddard was convening with a soldier on horseback. The soldier soon produced, and handed over a monstrous great sword Lord Eddard had named _Ice_.

The King in the North looked at his sons and nodded grimly before unsheathing the weapon. Jon Snow shook Bran on the shoulder. 'Don't look away.'

Eddard lifted the weapon and sliced the soldier's head off with one slice. Blood poured endlessly from the man's neck. It made Bran wonder what Old Nan's stories of battle and heroes were really like. The soldiers from the old stories never left battle with glory and happiness, but plate and mail soaked in the blood of fellow soldiers.

Ned picked up the head and gave it to a soldier with a sack and muttered something. He sheathed his sword and walked back to his sons. 'Do you know who that was, Bran?'

'A-a deserter from the N-Night's Watch?' He answered quietly.

'Yes, he left his post. It's punishable by death all throughout Westeros. I'm afraid it becomes more and more frequent as the years go by – as winter draws closer. It's a shame, the Watch needs good men.'

'He was murmuring something, I heard.'

'White Walkers-.'

'Like in Old Nan's stories.' Bran interupted

'They've been gone for thousands of years,' said Robb as they began climb back up on their horses, 'no need to worry.'

'A man sees what he sees. Some believe their back. I'm not going to say they're wrong, but in the eyes of many they are. Always keep an open mind, Bran. You two as well Robb, Jon.'

The men rode their horses back to the Winterfell. Bran could just see the crimson leaves of the monstrous Weirwood tree that stood gallantly in the centre of the Stark city. It reminded him of White Walkers, and the children of the forest. Were they really real? Why would people make them if they didn't have _at least _some shred of truth?

The soldiers make a short detour through a small pack of scraggly birch and pine trees, but Lord Eddard stopped them when a large, brown mass was seen in the middle of the road. There was a violent gash underneath its muzzle, and one of its antlers was chipped off. It was an elk.

'Wonder what could have done that,' said a soldier, as they approached the beast.

'Mountain lions?' Said another.

'No mountain lions in these parts.' He paused. 'What type of animal would kill without a taste of its prey?'

'I hope it isn't a wildling ambush,' announced yet another soldier.

'I think we can trust the Watch, but,' said Ned, 'Jory, watch my back. Ser Rodrik, take Bran and his brothers back to the castle. The rest of you spread out and look for any sort of threat.'

'Father-.' Said Robb as he began to draw his castle-forged sword. 'I can hold my own.'

'Perhaps, but a wildling with a spear is more dangerous than you think. Jory will tell you himself.' Ned smiled. 'Get going.'

Robb sheathed his blade, frowned and headed towards his brothers. Ned, Jory and the other soldiers walked briskly into the bush. By the time their footsteps were quiet, Bran and his brothers were nearing the gates of Winterfell. The large gates swung open. They decided they would go back to the yard to practice.

Bran continued to miss nearly three quarters of the time, while his brothers hit the mark every time.

'I bet I could hit the thing cleaner and a lot more than you three.' Said a voice from behind a training dummy.

'You really think so?' Jon replied. 'Why don't you stop being so shy, Horseface, and show us what you're made of.'

Arya came out from behind the dummy and produced a brown ball from her pocket. She threw it at Jon, hitting him in the face and creating a disgusting explosion of acidy mush. That was no ball she threw, but a rotten apple. Robb and Bran laughed.

'I guess I can't say it was the _cleanest_ hit!' Arya smirked, but Jon was too busy wiping his face off on his sleeve to care.

'Been laying with the pigs too long, picking up their food, eh little sister?' He said as he rubbed his eyes. Jon then sprinted to her, the crushed apple still in hand. But before he could make any distance the horn sounded.

'What is that?' Arya asked. Winterfell's gates creaked open. Stark soldiers entered, and with them a band of struggling wildlings. Their hands were bound, but they weren't dressed like any wildling they had seen before; some stayed quiet, but others shouted. It made no matter, they had already attracted the attention of everyone in the Stark capital.

'Put them in the cells for the time being,' Eddard cried, as they led them through the dreary streets of Winterfell.


	2. Chapter 2

*** Bran ***

Bran did not see his father for the rest of the day, or night. Rumors were already spreading of a potential wildling invasion coming 'within the fortnight'. But it was late, and time for little lords to get to bed.

'Nan, do you know who the people my father took in were?' Bran asked.

'Heh, Brandon, if I knew I don't think I'd be able to tell you.' She replied as she flattened out the blanket on Bran's bed.

'Why not?'

'Well, maybe if they were wildlings, but not even I know. Anyways, why would a little boy care about – or even want to talk about scary wildlings or maybe other, even worst things?'

'I'm almost a man grown. I've always liked your scary stories.'

'Perhaps we'll learn tomorrow, hmm?' She sat up and started to blow out the numerous candles perched around the room. 'I'll bet I'm as curious as you. Good night, Bran.' She said, and then blew out the last remaining candle.

'Good night.'

*** Eddard ***

'Keep their hands bound, and sit them down on chairs.' Lord Eddard commanded.

Stark soldiers sat the nine captives down and tied their hands to their chairs. Eddard sat across from them, sword at the ready.

'We don't want any trouble…' Said the man with the brown hair. He wore a beige shirt and pair of dirty blue pants.

'I am Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, may I ask your names?'

'Rick Grimes. I'm the leader here.' The man said.

'That's an interesting house name. Are you a scout or messenger from the Lannisters or Greyjoys… Karstarks?'

'Sir, Lord, whatever… I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'You don't look like wildlings. Were are you all from?'

'Why would I tell you that?'

Eddard's face was as cold as steel. 'Maybe you should not. We will serve you bread and salt – a common courtesy. A couple glasses of water surely?'

'We don't need your food.'

'You're certain? We can have Maester Luwin look at your wounds. Or a new blanket for that babe of yours, if you wish.'

Before Rick could respond, a blonde girl piped up. 'That would be nice, thank you.'

Ned smiled. 'Keep them in cells for the night. And unbound them as well.'

'Sir, are you sure that's wise?' Said Ser Rodrik.

'They won't do any harm behind a pair of thick iron bars.' Eddard said as he walked back to the Lord's Tower.

*** Rick ***

'Dad… _Dad_?' Whispered Carl. 'Dad?'

'What?' His father replied.

'These people are so _weird_.'

'Yeah, they all dress like they're from the middle ages. These walls are surreal. I wonder how they made them?'

'They took the guns.'

Rick put his hand through his hair. 'I know. And I don't think we'll be able to get out of these cells without something sharp, or the key. I just hope we can trust these people.'

'We got to get out of here as soon as we can.' Said the sword-wielder Michonne. 'We don't want another Woodbury on our hands.'

'This place is like Woodbury times ten but without guns.' Carl replied.

'And that is what could make the difference: No guns. If we just can just get our guns back, we can shoot our way out.'

'Guys these people seem… I don't know… different.' Said Beth, as she cradled a baby in arm. 'Can't we just see what will happen? They offered us food and blankets.'

Michonne laughed. 'Just like Woodbury.'

'We'll see how everything goes in the morning.' Said Rick. 'Carl, what's the time?'

He glanced at his wrist. '1:07.'

'Maybe you're right Beth, but it's unlikely. Good people are becoming harder and harder to find in this world. We'll wait till the morning.'

'Rick, they took your wife and the others,' Michonne shouted. 'Who knows where they are. Being tortured? Remember what happened to Glen and Ma-.'

'Michonne, were stuck behind bars with an entire… fortress around us,' Rick yelled. 'What are we to do? Can that sword of yours cut these bars?'

Michonne squinted at him and sat down against a wall. 'Don't blame me when Glen comes back bloody and Maggie screaming.'

*** Eddard ***

Lord Eddard climbed up the steps of the King's Tower, unlacing his cloak as he went. Catleyn would be at the top of the tower, likely sleeping. He clicked the door handle to find his wife craning over a piece of steel.

'How did it go?' She asked.

'They're in the cells. Around nine of them, I think. We offered them food, but they wouldn't take it. Certainly not wildlings.'

'I don't think a wildling would be carrying something like this.' Said Catelyn. She was examining at a small metal object with a hole driven through it. There was brown gripping like that of a sword's handle. 'It's a shame that they wouldn't take anything to eat; they looked like starved rats when I saw them.'

'I agree, they have a baby with them.' He said as he began to untie his bootlaces.

'A baby?' Exclaimed Catelyn.

'Even though their spokesperson, Rick, wouldn't take any food, the mother of the child was thankful for a blanket.'

'A dirty cell is no place for a baby…'

'What are we to do then? Take their baby away from them, or swap beds with them for the night?' Eddard sighed and gestured towards the metal object. 'The lot of them were carrying those things, I've asked Maester Luwin to investigate some of the other ones.'

'Whatever they are, they're certainly strange.' She said. 'I discovered that the hook in the back clicks and that the hole smells of ashes.'

'You could be a maester yourself.' Replied Eddard, before hugging her. He yawned. 'What time is it anyways? Never mind, it's time for bed.'

*** Sansa ***

'Sansa! _Sansa_! You've got to wake up!' Said Arya as she shook her redheaded sister.

'What is it Arya?' She said, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. 'This better be good I want to sleep.'

'Chef Monkey is in the kitchens giving out lemon tarts. They're free.'

'Lemon tarts?' She said. 'Those are my favorite! Were there lots there?'

'Yeah plenty! Let's Go!' And so they went. Sansa left with a light green blouse and matching cream skirt. Arya on the other hand went to the tarts with a long-sleeved, blue shirt and pants.

There were already people walking out of the kitchens with yellow pastries in hand. It made Sansa hungry just looking at them. They strolled into the kitchens to see Mr. Monkey handing out the last ones. Luckily for the sisters, there seemed to be a couple left.

The two girls approached the chef. 'Do you have any more we could have?' Asked Arya.

'Ah, I think I have a couple for the Stark sisters.' He said, his shaggy moustache rustling with every word. 'Here we are, the last two.' He handed them, but as he did, he spied a red cherry on top of the viscous lemony liquid. 'Lucky you!' He said. 'Must have been feeling generous!'

'Thank you Mr. Monkey.' Said Sansa and then they left.

'They're absolutely delicious.' Arya said, between nibbles of tart.

'I agree.' Sansa replied.

It was a wonderful start to a beautiful day and she hadn't gotten along with Arya so well for a while. She seemed less mischievous today. Sansa wondered if she would stay in needlework for more than an hour today. She had hoped so. With their tarts now gone, the two girls decided to head to the needlework workshop.

But before they could reach the stuffy shop, they heard Bran calling to them from a nearby stable. 'What does Bran want?' Sansa asked.

'WHAAAAAT?' Arya cried to the stable.

Bran gestured them over. Just then the stable boy Hodor came and stood beside Bran. He was over two times than Bran, and that always made Sansa a little nervous. 'Do you want to come with Hodor and I into the Wolfswood?' Bran asked.

'The Wolfswood?' Sansa asked, surprised. 'Why would you want to go there?'

'I'll come.' Said Arya.

'Arya, Bran, what did mother and father say?'

'I'm not going to ask them, they're going to say no.' Answered Bran. 'Besides, I have Hodor here with me, and you two. I always hear wolves in there and I want to see them.'

'But wolves are dangerous!' Sansa advised.

'They won't hurt us; the Stark sigil is a direwolf.' Bran argued. 'Anyway, Sansa are you coming, or not?'

'I suppose I will, but only into the border of the forest! What about Robb and Jon?'

'They're busy studying for their test.' Said Arya.

'Hodor.' Hodor replied.

Sansa glanced at the man. 'Let's go then.'

Today was a warm day. The snow was beginning to show patches of green, and the remaining snow stuck to their shoes.

'Argh I shouldn't have worn a skirt, it's so cold.' Sansa complained while stepping over a rock.

'The forest isn't much longer.' Her brother put a hand to his ear. 'You hear that? It's the wolves.'

There was an audible growl as they neared the wood, although it didn't sound like any wolf Sansa had heard before. Then again, she had never really heard a wolf growl, only the kennel dogs in the yard.

The four approached the forest and began to push away bush and brush in an attempt to find something interesting.

'I think I'm going to come here everyday,' Arya said. 'It reminds me of the trip to Moat Cailin.'

'Moat Cailin didn't have THIS many bushes.' Said Sansa.

'Would you two be quiet? I can hear something.' Suddenly Bran stopped moving. 'Stop… Stop!'

They could hear soft little mews past a thicket of trees. The four moved towards the sound and found a trio of puppies nestled together by the trunk of a tree. One was brown while the other two were a mixture of white and black.

'Wolves!' Bran yelled.

'They're so cute, they're only puppies,' Arya said, grinning.

'Hodor! Hodor!'

Arya picked up one of the white ones. 'Arya, don't do that, their mother's nearby!' Sansa exclaimed.

'They're thirsty. I'm going to give this one some water by the creek.'

By then Bran had picked up the brown one and it was nibbling on his finger. 'I wonder where their mother is anyways?' He said.

'She's probably nearby, we'd better put the puppies down.'

'Maybe we should… but they're so adorable.'

Sansa was finding it difficult to resist the fluffy beasts. She picked up the remaining one and rubbed its ear. Suddenly, a loud splash of water sounded from where Arya had gone.

'Hodor hodor hodor!' Yelled Hodor as he sprinted towards the water source. Branches snapped and rocks tumbled alike. Bran and Sansa followed him.

'I'm good! I'm alright!' Arya cried. 'I just tripped a little and a rock fell into the water.' She was all dirty and the pup was now waddling towards the creek obliviously. 'Come back here!'

'Thank goodness you're all right. Drink up doggies.' Said Sansa.

Bran put the puppy down by the creek and stepped back. 'What is that?' He said as he pointed towards a large white thing floating in the water.

'A bunch of snow?' Arya guessed.

'There is red on it.' The thing came closer and so did the rank smell of death. It was not a bunch of snow, but the bloody carcass of a white wolf.

Bran gasped. 'Is that their mother?'

But before he could get an answer a man came jogging towards them. He seemed to be following the wolf, albeit with an extreme limp in his leg. He came closer and began to moan.

'Sir, are you alright?' Sansa called. But the man did not reply. He continued to shamble closer to them. His clothing was ripped but what really caught their attention was the missing part of his jaw, the missing eyeball and crusty blood covering his face. Bran, Sansa and Arya picked up the wolves and stepped back.

'I am Brandon Stark of House Stark.' Bran called out to him, but he just continued to shuffle forward at an alarming pace.

'Don't come any closer!' Arya yelled.

Suddenly, Hodor picked up a large tree branch and swung it at the man. It hit only his arm, causing the appendage to snap off and make the man moan even more.

'Hodor! Hodor! Hodor!' He cried as the children screamed. The stable boy then dropped the branch and began to throttle the man's neck.

'Hodor stop!' Bran called out. Hodor took his hands off the man and stepped back. But before Hodor could, the man lunged at him and sunk his teeth into Hodor's throat.

Bran gasped. 'Stop it! Stop!' He dropped the wolf pup and ran towards Hodor. 'Go get help!' the boy said to his sisters as he picked up the tree branch. Hodor then fell over and screamed, but the man continued to gorge on the tough, bloody flesh of his victim's neck. Bran dropped the branch. 'We have to leave!' Sansa cried as Hodor's screams for help grew fainter and more labored. The siblings


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Sorry for the long wait for the chapter! I'm planning on releasing a chapter per weekend.

*** Bran ***

The three siblings were now dashing through the large field just outside the walls of Winterfell. The wolf pups were growing restless, and were now mewing incessantly. They were not accustomed to the bumpy ride over roots and over hills.

They approached the gates of Winterfell. 'Let us in!' Bran cried.

A guard glanced at them and realized who they were. 'Open the gates!' He cried. 'It's the Stark children!'

The gates hinged open and Bran, Sansa, Arya and the wolves all ran in desperately. 'We have to tell father,' said Sansa.

'He's probably in the castle,' replied Arya.

Eddard was indeed in the castle, sitting with Maester Luwin and the others in the Great Hall.

As soon as the three children entered, he immediately stood up and approached them. 'Where were you three?' He boomed, 'I was just about to send a search party! And what is this? Why are you carrying dogs?' He paused and peered at the canines suspiciously.

'There not dogs, their wolves!' Arya cried.

'We went out into the woods to look for wolves… with Hodor.' Bran interrupted.

'The Wolfswood?! And where is the stable boy now?' Eddard asked.

'He was attacked… Bitten or something. A man attacked him!' Bran began to well up with tears. Sansa and Arya were pale as ghosts.

'By the gods… Put those wolves away back into the woods when we get back. Go to your chambers. Ser Rodrik, we have to go investigate. Get a group of men together – we're heading out as soon as possible.'

'Of course, my Lord,' the knight said.

The doors opened once again and mother entered. She looked grim and tired with worry. 'Ned, did you find the children?'

'They're here Cat,' Ned replied, 'but we have no time to explain, we've got to leave.'

Catelyn approached him and put a hand on his shoulder. 'What do you mean you need to leave?'

'This is a pressing matter, no time to explain,' he pulled away from her embrace and left the hall, Ser Rodrik following closely.

Catelyn turned to her children. 'Where have you three been?' she said, wide-eyed. 'Your father and I have been searching for hours!'

'We were out in the woods,' Bran replied, struggling for breath, and continued to tell her the story of their adventure.

Catelyn was speechless, and by the end, she was in tears. 'I want you to put those things back into the wilderness! I can't believe you went into the woods without telling us, the Wolfswood at that! To your chambers, the lot of you and don't you dare leave. Bran, Old Nan won't be telling you your story tonight.'

'Why not?' Bran called, but his mother did not answer. She left the hall.

Suddenly Sansa spoke up, 'look at what happened… Our trip into the woods to look for wolves has someone killed and the entire town messed up!' She burst into tears. 'I'm never going with you two anywhere again!'

Bran peered at Arya who was running out of the hall, still carrying the wolf pup like a swaddling baby. She turned a corner without a word. 'If we would have know this would have happened w-we wouldn't have gone!'

'It's too late now,' Sansa said before making like Arya, and leaving. But before she found her way out, she stopped, and with a voice hardly louder than a whisper she said: 'When are you going to p-put the w-wolves back into the w-woods?'

'I'm not,' Her brother replied defiantly. 'The trip couldn't have been for nothing.' He wiped his red, swelling eyes and stoked the wolf's head.

'Your right; I'm not going to either.' She turned around and headed to her chamber.

*** Eddard ***

Winterfell was in complete disarray. Lord Eddard had not seen it like this since Robert's Rebellion. Children and parents alike babbled loudly of morbid killers in the area. 'The Stark boy has been killed!' He heard a bearded man say.

Eddard, along with Ser Rodrik and half a dozen men mounted horses in Winterfell's stables. They were strong, well-footed beasts that would not trip over roots and rocks every second step. Without a word, they rode out of Winterfell's large wooden gates.

Several small footprints made a path through the snow. Why would they do this? Eddard thought, have I not been strict enough? He kicked the horse's haunches and fingered Ice's pommel.

'The Wolfswood is coming into view, sir,' a soldier said. Eddard nodded.

They dismounted their horses at a small clearing near the forest's border. 'Follow their footsteps,' Eddard ordered.

The crunch of snow soon faded away into the sound of flowing water. The smell of blood was in the air and Ned thought he could hear the horse's whiny. Soon enough they arrived at the small creek that Bran had told them about. His son's recount unfolded with the appearance of Hodor's corpse. It had gone white and his head stayed attached to his body through merely a few scraps of skin and muscle.

Ser Rodrik pressed a gloved hand to his face. 'Who could have done such a thing?'

'Bran told of a hurt, or limping man – one that kept moving even after his arm had broken off,' Eddard replied.

'White Walkers never come this down south,' a soldier added.

'It was likely not a White Walker, I am told they use weapons… not their teeth.'

'What do you suggest we do, Lord Eddard?' Ser Rodrik asked.

'We'll take his body back to Winterfell, give him a proper burial.'

Hodor was a big man and required all eight men to carry him. Eddard took his feet, while Ser Rodrik his head. The other six men split evenly at each side of his body. By the time they boarded him atop a horse, each of their hands were covered with blood.

Ser Rodrik adjusted Hodor's head as to keep it stable during the ride, ripping another piece of muscle along the jawline. 'Will the townspeople even be able to look at him during the funeral?' He wrinkled his nose, 'his head's nearly torn off.'

'It will probably be off by the time we arrive at Winterfell.'

'Well I don't doubt.' Rodrik ripped his bloodied gloves off and placed them in his pocket. The head unadjusted itself and fell aside, Ser Rodrik went to readjust it.

'Just leave it be, Rodrik,' Eddard suggested as he mounted his horse.

'We can't have it-.' Ser Rodrik grunted. Eddard turned around to see Rodrik wrestling with Hodor's head, its eyes flicked open, grey as stone.

The knight pushed the head away. 'Is every thing alright?' A soldier asked.

'Fuck,' Ser Rodrik exclaimed as he pulled a dirk from his belt. He slashed the remaining sinew from the neck, causing the head to roll off the horse's back. 'The bastard bit me.'

Eddard swiftly dismounted. 'He bit you? He's dead and the head's barely left attached.'

'He's plenty alive,' Rodrik flashed his wrist to Eddard. The horse was stumbling and crying, nearly knocking Hodor's body off its back.

'Cover the wound and show it to Maester Luwin at Winterfell. Where is the head?'

Ser Rodrik's face was strained with pain. 'I cut it off.'

There was something moving by the horse's feet. Ned approached it and saw that it was Hodor's head, moaning loudly and chomping its teeth to Eddard's approach. He picked it up by the hair. 'By the gods…'

The soldiers' faces wrinkled in disgust. 'How is he still alive? A man asked.

'A-a bag, a sack or something… someone hand give me something to put this head in,' Eddard said as the head continued to struggle and moan. Ned could feel the vibrations of hair follicles ripping out of Hodor's scalp. He was handed a dusty burlap sack. He tied the squirming bag to his saddle, and they rode out of the woods. Luwin will have his hands full, Eddard thought, full of death and things not seen for thousands of years.

*** Rick ***

Michonne, Carl and Rick sat on a musty bench in the corner of the cell. It was the only retreat from the hard, grimy floor that was now covered in a thin sheen of water. Last night's rains had not been kind to them; the air was damp and heavy and their clothes sagged wet and excruciatingly uncomfortable. Beth and Judith were gone, taken away to another cell that morning.

A door creaked open and an old man hobbled over to their cell. Hershel? Rick thought, but Hershel wouldn't be wearing a layered mass of grey cloth as clothing and a ludicrously large chain around his neck.

The old man looked at each of them longingly. 'You probably don't know my name, but I am Maester Luwin. I was with Lord Eddard when him and his men captured you. We took these devices from you.' Luwin dug through his robe to produce Rick's Colt Python, and Carl's silenced Beretta. 'I've been pouring over them all night and-.'

'Excuse me,' Carl blurted out. 'What's a maester?'

'Carl-.' Rick scolded.

Luwin took a deep breath. 'Sorry, you people aren't from around here. A maester is a person trained in medical arts and other sorts of useful things. Maesters have also been known to council lords, kings, and queens alike.'

'What do you want from us?' Michonne said with a hint of anger.

'An answer… I would like an answer. Like I said, I have been pouring over these things for quite some time. Unable to decipher what exactly they are. So I come to you for answers.'

'You mean you've never seen a gun before?' said Rick.

'So they're called guns?'

'This is insane,' Rick stood up and approached the bars. 'Your people dress and act like you're from the Middle Ages, you have never seen a gun before… Is this all a sham… how could you have lived like this since the infection?!'

'I have really no idea what you're talking about, we've lived like this for decades, centuries, millennia.'

'Maybe the infection didn't reach them, Dad,' said Carl.

'What is this infection?'

Rick ran his hand through his hair. 'It started last summer. We call it the walker infection. People come back to life after they die, wanting nothing but living flesh, they'll run at you on sight. It completely destroyed our world – nothing left but the walking dead and other groups of survivors.'

'That sounds horrible…but how is that even possible? Do you know how it spread or how it started?'

'No idea how it started, but it can spread through bites, scratches or even by walker's blood. If you die, you'll come back as one. The only was to kill them is to shoot, stab, crush… whatever the brain.'

'Walkers, that's what you call them. And so you use these devices to kill them.'

'We do now, small balls or cylinders shoot out of them; kind of like a bow and arrow.'

Michonne stood up and leaned against a wall. 'What's this place called?'

'Winterfell, capital of the North,' Luwin said. 'I looked at your sword as well. Very interesting… it's curved. Such an ornate scabbard and handle; couldn't be from Westeros.'

Michonne squinted. 'Georgia.'

Luwin nodded. 'Well, you and the other members of your group seem like good people, a couple of wild cards, though. I'll persuade Lord Eddard to move you out of your cells.'

'Thank you, Luwin,' said Rick.

The prison door slammed open, the two men who captured them the day before limped in, one helping the other walk.

The brown haired one spoke up. 'Maester Luwin, I need you to see to Ser Rodrik; he's been bit on the wrist. We thought Walder was dead but he caught Rodrik off guard and, for some reason, bit him.' The man he assumed was Rodrik was looking haggard, and pale: hardly able to stand up. His left wrist was bloodied.

Rick's eyes widened. Maester Luwin turned around to him. 'I'll see to him in my tower, Lord Eddard.'

Eddard helped Rodrik out the door and to Luwin's tower. 'He won't make it.' Rick grasped the cell bars tightly. 'He's gone Luwin. Remember when he comes back… the head.'

'There's no cure?'

Rick shook his head. 'Don't let him near anyone else, they too aggressive to be taken lightly. Luwin, you are one of the only people that believed us on this. And for that, I thank you.'

Maester Luwin nodded and left the prison.


	4. Chapter 4

*** Andrea ***

It was beautiful. Andrea even wondered if it was real for a time: Its giant tan walls, red-roofed buildings and enormous red castle looked like something out of Amy's fantasy books. There wasn't a walker in sight, instead replaced with dozens upon dozens of people steering wagons and riding horses. There was even a group of medieval knights marching through the rabble. She felt as though she had been in a daze for the past few hours. Walking aimlessly… she felt ready to fall asleep at any moment. But once the castle came into view, she perked up. How long have I been walking? Andrea thought.

With her handgun holstered firmly in her belt and her eyes staring curiously at the stone mass before her, she thought back who knows how many hours ago, to when Philip assigned her – and only her – to scout the lands just west of Yellowjacket River. She could hardly leave his office without being offered a man or two to escort her, let alone two miles west. 'We need someone powerful, but quiet to scout out these lands. Martinez and Merle shoot and yell like a band of baboon monkeys in a cage,' the Governor said. Was he trying to get me killed? Andrea thought, is he sick of me now?

She had half a mind to march back to Woodbury and tell him about the bustling castle with walls ten times taller than the prison, tell him about the potentially thousands of people ready to gun down Woodbury, if war were to break out. But her curiosity got the better of her. She headed towards the castle.

It was the smell she wrinkled her face at, then the team of men selling pickled dog, and finally the sow dying in the middle of the streets. One of the men in the wagons paused in front of the poor beast. A woman was sitting in the back humming a tune.

'I can't sell turnips gone bad to Lord Waters,' he scowled then looked at Andrea. 'Woman, make yourself useful and drag that thing off the path.'

Andrea turned to the man. 'Excuse me?' she responded, 'I don't believe I'm taking orders from you.'

'Then go back to Pentos, Dorne or what ever damn place you came from. Men got the upper hand while Roberts king.'

'Gam, stop it,' the woman demanded. She slid off the back of the wagon and headed towards Andrea. 'Are you from around here?'

'No, I'm from Woodbury… the town a couple miles east of here.' Andrea replied.

'Hmm, I've never heard of it. Anyways I'm Ros. Look, by the look of your clothes, you're probably not from King's Landing… mind a tour?' Ros waved the wagon driver away.

'I had better get back -.'

'You can't just leave,' the woman said. 'King Robert is spending one last night at Littlefinger's brothel before he heads off to Winterfell.'

Andrea stared mouth agape at Ros. 'What are you implying? Also I haven't heard of any of these places or people before.'

'You haven't heard of Winterfell in Pentos? I thought there would have been at least a few brothels across the Narrow Sea…. Anyways, I got a small room at Littlefinger's place, I'll answer some of your questions and give you a taste of the Royal Treasurers finest wine.'

'I don't know if other survivors have been building camps that we don't know about, or if you're leading me into a trap here,' she declared. 'But I'm from Woodbury…'

Ros rolled her eyes. 'King's Landing can be startling for new people! It is the capital of Westeros. Anyways, are you coming or not?'

Why not? Andrea thought. These people look like they've never even seen a walker before; maybe I can get a lead on just who these people are. They all seem like their making a new America… a more medieval one.

'…Fine…Sure.' Andrea smiled. She hated the sound of a brothel… and this King Robert. Andrea walked with Ros down the mucky roads of 'King's Landing'.

*** Hershel ***

He could feel it, a pain. It often happened when he was sitting, when it was quiet… with nothing but him… and his leg. Two others accompanied the cell: Carol and Glenn but they barely said a word. It was almost strange to see Glenn without Maggie. The two were inseparable.

Carol sighed. 'I'd sooner think we'd be in the Governor's prison… not a castle in the woods.'

'I didn't even think there would be a castle in the woods.' Hershel replied. 'They didn't ask us for bites, scratches or anything about walkers.'

'Well they're certainly protected from walkers, they're wearing suits of armour, helmets.' Glenn said.

Hershel stroked his beard. 'And they carry swords – no guns.'

'Saving ammo?' Carol suggested.

The faint sound of boots on brick sounded from beyond the cell, growing louder with every step. Soon enough the chinking of keys was heard.

A clean-shaven man with wavy, shoulder-length hair approached. 'By orders of Lord Stark and recommendation from your commander Rick, you shall be freed.'

Negotiations already? Hershel thought. 'Thank you.'

'Where are you putting us?' Glenn asked.

'You and your other members of your group have been given a small, abandoned hovel by Winterfell's east gate. Commander Rick will be having negotiations with Lord Stark later in an hour or two.'

Carol couldn't help but smile. 'Thank you so much.'

The man began to unlock the cell. 'I am not to thank, my lady.'

Hershel hobbled through the town called Winterfell. It was muddy and cold despite the green on the trees. Hershel predicted it was just past noon. People all around the town looked at the three from their glassless windows and mucky stables. Some boys were lugging around heavy barrels and bushels of vegetables. A woman was struggling with a mound of pots and pans.

The more east they went, the more horses they saw. Brown ones, black, white, tortoiseshell… there was no shortage of horses in Winterfell. A man stopped them in the streets and noted Hershel's metal crutches as something for sorcerers – or 'The Seven'. Hershel thanked him.

The hovel was a small building with patchy thatching. Support stones were beginning to fall out, and when the three entered, they were met with the smell of mould and wet wood. The rest of the group was there; it had seemed Hershel, Carol and Glenn were the last to arrive. Beth was sitting on a fur hammock, holding Judith in her arms, Maggie beside her. Rick and the others sat at a large wooden table.

'Hershel, Carol, Glenn,' Rick called. 'Is everything alright?'

'We're fine,' Carol answered. Glenn embraced Maggie.

'Did they put you all in cells as well?' Hershel asked as he took a seat at the table.

'Yeah,' said Rick. 'An old man came over to me asking about our guns, Luwin was his name. Said he'd talk to his Lord about freeing us, so here we are.'

'They seem like good people. Though can't imagine how they've survived so well, without guns.

'Probably keeping them all safe and sound,' Daryl suggested. 'Probably robbed a sword shop, found some metal costumes and imagined themselves as real life King Arthur. Smart though, probably don't use a bullet.'

'It looks like history's turning back,' said Glenn.

'I don't know,' Rick stood up and looked out the hovel's single grimy window. 'Luwin said they've been living like this for thousands of years.'

'They could be Mennonites,' said Carl. 'We went to a Mennonite village in fourth grade.'

'Well I don't think Mennonites build cities and use swords.'

'Well anyways.' Rick took a deep breath. 'I think one of their men is infected.'

'Did you tell them about the outbreak?' Glenn asked.

'I told Luwin a bit, but I'm not sure if he trusts me. Might think I'm insane. One of the soldier stumbled in white-faced, in a daze, with a bite on his hand.'

'Well we have to tell them about it, how to deal with it.' Glenn announced.

'What makes you so eager to help these people?' Michonne added. 'Put blades to our throats, and throw us in cells. Now you think they're the good lord.

'They also gave us food, and shelter,' Hershel replied.

'I told Luwin to kill the brain,' said Rick. 'I don't know if he'll listen, but… I'll talk with this Lord Eddard and get our guns back, we'll leave right after.'

'If we're allowed,' Michonne added smoothly.

Rick glanced at her. 'Maggie can you pass me my jacket?'

'Sure.'

'I'm gonna' look around town. See what's up; you guys should look around too. Who knows, maybe we should live here.'

Hershel remembered all the things Michonne had said about the fortress that was Woodbury, none of them good. Would Lord Eddard kill them in their sleep? He hadn't heard much about Eddard – none of them had, but somehow he didn't think so. But if there were one Hershel did know, it would be to protect the group.

'Rick,' Hershel paused. 'I'll be out there soon.'

*** Rick ***

'You know, I think I might like it here,' Hershel said. 'Reminds me of the farm: simple.'

'That's right, that's right. Did any of the others say anything?' Rick said as they passed underneath an arch.

'No, no, but they all seem a little on edge.'

'I've heard enough from Michonne to know that.'

'Yeah, but you can't blame her… after her attack with the Governor.' The farmer paused. 'But Rick, you need to be careful when you're talking with Eddard. They're completely surrounding us, one command and there will be swords at our throats.'

'I'm aware. But if lord Eddard is anything like the Governor, he'll at least give me a peaceful audience.'

'Well I certainly hope so.' Hershel glanced at a large building to their right. 'I'm gonna' see what this general store has, buy me a new pair of suspenders. Do you think they accept debit?' He laughed.

Rick smiled. 'See you, Hershel.'

Rick later learned that the meeting with Lord Eddard would be at 7:30, not in an hour or two. When the clock aligned in such a way, Rick led his way to the place where he was to meet the Lord of Winterfell: the council chamber beside the Great Hall.

The Great Hall was quite easy to find, as it was one of the largest buildings in town. Rick could smell the roasting of some sort of meat and the faint clinking of plates; he entered.

There were a million servants swarming around the enormous table in the center of the room.

'Excuse me,' Rick said to one of the serving girls in his thick southern accent. 'Which door leads to the council chamber?'

'Lord Eddard holds council in the mornings, most often.'

'I have an audience with Lord Eddard right now.'

'Well,' she said as she wrung out a rag. 'It's that one.'

Lord Eddard was sitting on a large chair at the end of the room; a wooden carving of a wolf loomed over him.

'Lord Rick,' he said. 'You may take a seat.'

Rick instinctively reached for his revolver at his belt before realizing that it was probably locked away in some chest. 'Thank you,' he said as the chair's scream echoed around the stone room.

'I have called you to discuss the sightings and such that you have been telling Maester Luwin.'

'The outbreak, and the guns.'

'That's right,' Eddard reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a handgun. 'Luwin has already explained to me their function, but what I would like to know is where you got them?'

'May I ask what year it is?'

'298 AL, why do you ask?'

'Well, where I come from it's 2003. And that's where I got them, where I'm from. Atlanta.'

'They can kill a man from a distance likely faster and easier than a bow and arrow,' Eddard said. 'How many do you own at the moment? Would you mind selling? 100 gold dragons of this one.'

Rick smiled. 'They're not for sale; we barely have enough for our group.'

Lord Eddard nodded. 'All right, I can't imagine teaching the boys guns. They can barely learn the sword.' He chuckled. 'But on to the other matter… the undead.'

'I'm surprised your people haven't been affected by the infection.'

'In Westeros, there is an old story. White Walkers from the North who rain down and kill the living. They're said to be the reanimated dead bodies of soldiers, farmers, lords, and commoners. They haven't been seen for thousands of years, but from your story it seems that they're back.'

'Luwin said that one of your men was bitten by a dead man?' Rick's face was still. 'He'll turn, if not now… soon.'

'Ser Rodrik's fingers were amputated where the bite was taken,' said Eddard. 'The infection shouldn't spread.'

'It might work, but the amputation needs to be right after he was bitten. How is Rodrik now?'

'Ser Rodrik is feverish, and he slurs his words.'

Rick swallowed. 'He's going to turn. I told Luwin in the cell that if he was to turn, that he would have to kill the brain.'

'And that's the only way to kill one of the undead?'

'That's right. And if they even bite you… or scratch you, you'll turn too.'

Eddard nodded. 'Right.' He picked up the handgun and handed it to Rick. 'The others are in the chest over there, I'll get them for you.'

'Thank you.'

He handed the gun bag to Rick. 'You may stay in Winterfell if you like, if not the gates are not far away. If you need horses, you may talk to Harwin at the stables.'

'Thank you so much.'

The door the council chamber burst open. 'M'lord!' A soldier cried. He was holding his shoulder, blood dripping. 'Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin… they're attacking a-and… e-eating… eating anybody who tries to come near them.'

Eddard and Rick approached the soldier. 'Were you bit?' Eddard asked.

'It was M-Maester Luwin… he lunged.' He fell to his knees.

'I'm so sorry.' Eddard pulled a dagger from his belt. 'But the fate you are destined is far worse than death.'

'M'lo-.' Lord Eddard thrust the dagger through the soldier's temple, causing the body to fall limp to the floor. Eddard ran his hand through his hair. 'We have to stop this, Maester Luwin's tower is a few yards away from here.'

Rick nodded, still holding the gun bug. They walked out of Winterfell's Great Hall; the only sounds being the screams and cries of doomed victims.

AN: another long wait for the new chapter. I don't know why but this chapter gave me a lot of trouble. Anyway it's March break maybe I'll be able to write more.


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